Weazl simply wanted to share a tribute paid to the Muhammed Ali, the greatest heavyweight boxer of all time, and one of the great men of the past century. In an age where athletes focus on corporate endorsements to augment their already lavish lifestyles, Muhammed Ali represents an athlete who believed that he could use his notoriety to transform society. In the realm of political discouse, he was most famous for his opposition to the Vietnam War, but also spoke out for issues relating to the poor and the forgotten members of American society. Perhaps due to his unwillingness to retire from the sport that he loved, he would largely be unable to devote much time towards working to achieve this social change. But it is important to recognize even this willingness and desire to make a difference. He is one of those legends whose accomplishments need to be regularly acknowledged during his lifetime. What a man!
(fyi - GOAT means "Greatest of all time)
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morning weazl - my only comment on this is "athletes make far too much money for what they do!" well, except for golfers - you may not know this about me, but i like golf! playing that is. our 13 year old daughter has quite a swing and we're putting her into a school golf program next year. she's a natural. have a day.
Glad to have ole, crazy Soc back 'n rollin'. Gotta tell ya, luv boxing, just love it. One of the highlights of weazl's life was when he was bored shitless grinding as a corporate lawyer during the still growing internet bubble, living in Palo Alto, and just hopped on a plane to Vegas with a thousand five in pocket, sat at the roulette table at Excalibur at 11 at night, played through the night, with short skirted waitresses handing weaz orange juices with coffees at four in the morning while weaz was still on a roll. At three the next afternoon, when weaz finally left the table, he was a grand and a half richer, on the night Iron Mike was to fight Evander for the first fight. This was when Iran Mike just got sprung from the pokey, fought a box 'a tomato cans, and house money had him ready to kill Evander. Weaz was on the Tyson bandwagon and laid down nine Benjamins to get a one and a half face value fourth row seat. Sitting amongst the celebs, weaz rooted his ass off for Mike who looked like he was gonna close the show in the sixth, when the chorus rung out, "Ho-lee-field, Ho-lee-field," and Mike looked up as sad and dejected as if his momma died. Never before did I ever see the wind get taken out of the sails of an athlete like that, and he let Evander back in the game. I was yellin' like a banshee for Mike to press on and close (and in the 4th row was within earshot), but the bastard sat on his heels as Evander regrouped. By the eighth, I knew the writing was on the wall when Evander butted Mike, and Mike started cryin' like a beech for the ref to help him. Yet weaz wasn't prepared for the mule kick combo that Evander launched on Mike that sounded like a gunshot that isn't captured by the tv mikes. Iron Mike died and this was the type of ass whuppin' that forever shattered the intimitading mystique. By the time Mike had completely punked out to go ear huntin' his heart had long been sealed by that mule kick, ass kickin' of the first fight, the resolution of weaz's winning ways.
Ain't got nuttin' to do with Ali, but they's in the same sport. And Ali was a man's man, the same way that Mike turned out to be a punk's punk.
Yeah, Soc, one way well get together and shoot the shit, but not yet, not yet. In the meantime, let's rock and roll, tell jokes and laugh, reveal the idiocy of the beaker morons et als. And wait until America is resurrected from the scourge of the Bush crime cartel.
And yeah, you're right, fuck the spooks, their torture gulags, their complete moral vacuum, brainwashed like Stasis, telling themselves they're better than thugs and slugs, while they shit on the Constitution that they claim to protect, invoke names of a God they know nothing about, and make people hate us enough to blow themselves up.
Yeah, Soc, we'll bark at the moon, while nobody will listen, as they launch nuclear missiles in the name of peace, play with bugs and flus to wipe clean the slate in their Nazi vision of a world with no little brown, black, red and yellow peoples fucking up the marchmellow marble, and drive the US into Third World prosperity, while sitting atop piles of cash and laughing at us secure in their Halliburton, Raytheon, McDonnell Douglass, Carlyle, Bechtel, Exxon-Mobil, GE and Roche stocks and dividends, while sheeple GI's spit out two headed babies and six fingered morons from DU glowing sperm. "Gotta praise the hero-soldiers," claimed the malignant Moron.
But there'll be no extra money for burial expenses for post war leukemias and for the deformed spawn of forgotten warriors.
So, Soc, at some point after you read this, get shitfaced drunk on me, and laugh at the future laughs that we're gonna have after we've broken bread and passed 'round the pipe.
Happy Sunday.
And leggy nanc atop a split melon, hat tip to you too, and to your pseudo sport.
As far as the athletes gettin' paid too much, don't hear you bitchin' about actors making $25 mil a movie, and Exxon execs making $125 mil a year, and drug addict Rush poppin' pills to the tune of a quarter billion dollars, blowing hot air into an open mike. So thanks for the advice, my little Arkansian, but if you wanna worry injustices about money, best try to go and feed the poor.
Hell, ain't that was Jeezus said to do? Today's Sunday, was that the message mouthed from the morning minister? Shoudda been. ;-)
1:39 PM
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